Fights
by carefxl
Summary: "I think you should go," she whispered quietly. / One-shot, I think.


Chapter One

The silence was utterly deafening.

He watched her, eyes pained, as she struggled to make sense of the words coming from his mouth. They were less than a foot apart, his tall frame towering over hers. She stared into his eyes, hers full of disbelief and sorrow, his a mix of pity and sadness. Her blue eyes were imploring him to say something, anything; that much he could read in them. He stayed silent. Her eyes filled, tears escaping their confines. He reached up, his fingers ready to wipe away the trails down her cheeks but her fists were there first, balled up and rubbing away. His hand fell to his side. She sniffled and looked away.

"I think you should go," she whispered quietly. She didn't wait for an answer, she turned away instead and wrapped her arms around herself. She let out a shuddery breath and rubbed at her eyes some more. Damn traitor tears. She felt a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off.

"Sam— ," he started. She cut him off.

"I asked you to leave, Benson." Her words were met with silence.

"Benson?" he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. "So we're back to last names, are we?" She didn't answer.

"Well, I'm sorry, _Puckett_." She flinched, the words were bitter and harsh. It had been a long time since they'd called each other by their last names. It sounded alien on his tongue.

"For what?" she mumbled, trying not to sound as pathetic as she felt. He was quiet for a minute. She chanced a glance at him.

She took him in, her eyes noticing the smallest things. Like how he'd grown out of the trimmed hairstyle his mother always demanded he had. His hair was mussed and unruly now, a lock of brown hair obscuring one eye from view. His Oxford shirt was slightly crumpled, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his tie missing. Or like how he had a scuff on his impeccable black leather shoes that wasn't there yesterday. Her eyes moved to his face. _He needs a shave_, she thought immediately.

He was watching her. His eyes were slightly narrowed, brow furrowed, shoulders hunched, hands buried deep. A look of pensiveness.

"What're you thinking about?" she blurted out, completely out of habit. Her blush deepened.

"Funny how old habits die hard, eh, Sam?" He smiled at the look of shock on her face. Weren't they just arguing a few seconds ago? And did he just call her Sam?

"Well, don't look so stunned," he chided, his tone playful. "I never could stay mad at you, could I?" He was grinning now. What the hell? She stared at him warily, wondering if this was some sort of test.

"That isn't true," she retaliated after a moments silence . "Remember in sixth grade when I decided it'd be funny if I filled your locker with tampons—," His face scrunched up in distaste. She barrelled on, ignoring him.

"—And I told everyone I was going to pull a prank on you and you were the only one who didn't know and everyone came to watch and when you opened your locker—," He groaned, covering his ears, his face crumpling up in mock agony. She had to laugh at the look on his face.

"You didn't talk to me for a month," she said softly. "I sort of regret that now."

His eyes softened and he smiled. He made his way toward her and held out his arms in invitation, a slightly pleading look on his face. She raised an eyebrow.

"Take me back?" he asked, a half-smile on his lips. She scrutinized him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. He saw the look of doubt on her face and held his hands up in mock defeat. Her lips curled into a smile and a smug smirk crossed his features. He walked towards her slowly, she didn't retreat. He gathered her up, his arms holding her to him. Her head fell just beneath his chin and she tucked herself in the crevice of his neck. He smiled softly.

"I never let you go, actually," she murmured into his skin. Her breath tickled against his skin and felt her press a soft kiss to his neck.

They were silent for a while, lost in their thoughts. She felt his chest grumble underneath her as he laughed. She pulled back, scrutinizing him sceptically.

"What's so funny?" she asked. He chuckled, pressed a kiss to her forehead and laughed some more. She stayed silent patiently. She raised an eyebrow at him again.

"Care to explain, Fredward?" He grinned widely at her.

"It's just that we can't ever stay mad at each other for more than a fraction of an hour." He was laughing again and Sam stared at him incredulously.

"You find this funny?" she asked curiously. He nodded a bit sheepishly. She smiled and rose to her tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Dork," she breathed against his skin. He laughed again. She pulled away, wrinkling her nose.

"You stink," she told him. "You smell like a broom closet." He smirked at her look of disgust.

"Aren't we a little old for name calling, Samantha?" he chided playfully.

"No. We're only twenty-four. We'll never be too old," she replied. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"If you say so."

A/N: Eh, not sure about this one. I'm on summer so I guess I can write a bit more. :) Reviews are welcomed.


End file.
